Monday, August 27, 2007

Story Em Donich

Yesterday I visited my friends John and Andrea at New York Presbyterian Hospital, where late Thursday night Andrea gave birth to Story Em Donich. After a somewhat-fraught birth, Story and Andrea (not to mention John) are now doing just fine. I think they went home today.

It was great to meet Story, less than three days old. She sucked on my pinkie finger for a bit, and it was amazing the force of suction she had. And she wailed a bit, but was very sweet as well. Here are some photos of her, so cute (she's the one on the right, this is no Ted Brogan birth):

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Autumn comes and the days all start late

All at once one October morning you wake up and the light’s different, angled through the open window which, all night long, eyes closed and mouth ajar, you faced, a bit of breeze come through to flutter the curtains. It’s fall in New York, and it’s as if a crew of window-washers threw a bucket of sudsy water on the city and then squeegeed it clean. A film’s gone, hot August haze burned off, and everyone’s friendlier, more calm, not sunblind and sweat-soaked, sticky.

It’s one of the city’s two annual periods of transition, spring and fall. Summer and winter are static, owning the days and weeks with unquestioned authority—but spring and fall are interregnums, chinks in the armor, breakdowns in the system that summer- and winterly holds total sway.

Today, the twentieth, ten days later, is a gray day; now we should be sweating through shirts, the city reeking of garbage and last-gasp sex, hail-mary flirting, the end of a season; a sort of madness like in Sam’s summer, with which you empathize—but no, you’re wearing a sweater and so’s the carved-blonde beauty sitting across from you, her front to the window and her back to you, in profile.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Urge to blog fading ... fading ... rising ....

Last night I saw The Simpsons Movie with a friend. It felt, in the first few minutes of the movie, like I was watching something really generation-defining; seeing The Simpsons on the big screen kind of felt like a ticker-tape parade, a flag planted on a summit, a long-overdue victory lap.

On top of this, the movie was really funny, in that uniquely sweet way The Simpsons has really made its own. I maintain that, no matter what people say about the decline of The Simpsons, that I still, at least once a new episode, laugh out loud at something. Last night was no different: I laughed, harder than I've laughed in quite awhile, at maybe four or five moments in the film. I mean really laughed hard. The best part by far was at the end, when Bart reunites with Santa's Little Helper (aka "the dog") and asks him how he managed to survive. I won't say what the dog says (or, rather, barks, with subtitled translation), but it's a twisted, golden moment.

I highly recommend it.